


Arson & Ice Cream

by Horny_Unicorny



Category: Monster Prom (Visual Novel)
Genre: Bathroom, Cafetería, Damien needs anger management, F/M, Nancy (the car), One Shot, Vicky wants to comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 01:37:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18650281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Horny_Unicorny/pseuds/Horny_Unicorny
Summary: Damien is really effing pissed, but rather than steer clear of the demon's warpath, Vicky tries her damnedest to make him feel better.





	Arson & Ice Cream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tiktio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiktio/gifts), [burntUmbra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burntUmbra/gifts), [edgarallenbroski](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=edgarallenbroski).



> Inspired by the Prom Fight sequence of events and Skry_Cat's fluffy bathroom fic.
> 
> Also, you can find my Garret the Ghoul mod on Steam!

“I’m so fucking PISSED!”

Vicky recognized Damien’s voice just before a wave of heat blew in through the open door. If she didn’t hear him coming, she could usually feel him coming with a hot draft. His outburst now mostly went ignored by the students in the hallway because they were used to him bursting into rooms and punching nearby objects or lighting things on fire. That’s why every classroom was equipped with multiple fire extinguishers – that and because of the lava monster and ifrit djinn that attended classes there. 

“Get the fuck out of my way!” Damien shouted and barreled his shoulder into a student blocking his path. If they hadn’t been knocked to the floor by the impact, he might have collared them and threw them into the nearby locker. It wasn’t unusual for him to punch lockers, vending machines, or goblins when he was angry – or even when he was in a particularly good mood – but he was looking for something else to take his rage out on. 

Vicky held a pile of textbooks in her arms and moved out of the way of a stream of students passing behind her, putting her right in Damien’s path as he shouted hyperbolic threats and expletives. She’d never seen him so mad. Usually when he was angry, it was because he was bored, but this anger was more than frustration – he was seeing red. 

He glared at her with fire behind his eyes, annoyed at having to slow his pace, and yelled “You’re standing in my way! Move before I punch you so hard you’ll remember with melancholy the times you could move without all of your bones hurting!” 

Vicky had never been threatened by Damien before. She’d made it a point never to get on his bad side, even if that meant doing something crazy that could get her in trouble. She glanced around and inwardly thought he could have gone around her, but she wasn’t about to argue with him. As she sidestepped, so did he – apparently too impatient for her to move. 

“ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?”

Her eyes widened as she tried again – and he did too. “I’m not doing this on purpose!” she blurted out and squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the moment that would begin the rest of her life living in a world of pain. He bumped into her, only hard enough for her to drop a book, and continued down the hall, kicking over trash cans and punching lockers. 

Vicky breathed a sigh of relief, having been shown mercy in the face of unbridled rage. She went to class, but she couldn’t stop wondering what the hell it was that got Damien so fucking angry. She didn’t like it – aside from the threat of bodily harm and the increased likelihood the school would be evacuated due to a massive fire, she wanted to see him happy. Setting happy fires, not angry ones. And definitely not looking at her like he’d like to use her head as a bowling ball. She would rather look at her head like he wanted to make out with it. That hadn’t happened yet, but she was an optimist. 

At lunch, he was practically glowing with red hot anger, still seething and looking for an outlet to release it on. She had the feeling he’d use either killing OR fucking as an outlet, but she didn’t want him to hate fuck her. She wanted him to love fuck her. Someday maybe. Before that, she had to let him know she was his friend and that he didn’t have to be alone with his feelings. 

Vicky had the habit of trying to fix things even when they had nothing to do with her. But that was just one of the qualities that made her so endearing, according to Oz. She stood in line and packed her lunch on her tray before sitting down in a chair and pulling it right next to Damien’s. 

“I let you off easy and now you’re invading my personal space? It’s like you want to get your ass kicked.” 

“What can I say? I like to live dangerously,” Vicky answered with a smile and put her pudding cup on his tray. 

“You think I’m fucking five years old?” Damien picked up the pudding and lobbed it at Gary the Gremlin’s head as he passed by so it burst open on impact. “Fuck your pudding!” 

Vicky thought for sure one of the ways to his heart was through his stomach – and the pudding was one of the cafeteria’s only good things it had going for them. She frowned, trying to think of a back up plan. Of course, the point of a back up plan is to have planned it in advance. She was trying to improvise. “Do you want to talk about—”

Damien leaned closer with his hand on her tray and said, “Get. The fuck. Away from me.” He gave her tray a shove toward the end of the table so her carton of milk fell into her spaghetti and sat back in his chair. Vicky’s heart sank. She tried not to let it show as she picked up her tray and stood up from her seat to look for another table. She just needed to hold it together and—

Vicky felt her heart leap up into her throat as she stumbled, dropping her lunch tray as she tried not to land on her face. It seemed to happen in slow motion, but she failed to correct herself and landed on top of her lunch on the floor so spaghetti stained the front of her sweater. She could hear Tony and Garret laughing their asses off – they went with the classic ‘stick their foot out at the last second to trip her’ technique. She stood up shakily and avoided looking back, sure Damien saw the whole thing. 

She knew she should have stood up for herself somehow – maybe by coming back with a can of gasoline and pouring it all over their lunch table before lighting a match – but she didn’t have it in her. Nor did she actually have a can of gasoline in her locker. She didn’t even have it in her to whack one of them with her lunch tray. Even if she weren’t completely deflated, she would have used her words, and right now she didn’t have any. She left the cafeteria to go to the bathroom and kept her shit together until she got there. Then she burst into tears. 

It bothered her that it bothered her so much. If she’d just minded her own business and sat with Oz or Scott, none of this would have ever happened. Damien would have forgotten about her blocking him in the hallway as soon as whatever was pissing him off was resolved. Instead, he was more pissed at her and now he’d seen her act spineless, which was even worse. He probably thought she was a complete loser for letting the bullies have the last laugh. 

She looked at herself in the mirror, trying to will herself to stop crying so she could look composed before her next class. Her skin looked sun burnt whenever she cried, and her eyes became an even brighter blue. “Please, stop,” she begged herself as more tears welled up in her eyes and dripped from her chin. “Stupid.” She looked down at her dirty sweater and pulled it off over her head. She set it in the sink to wash it and heard someone coming down the hallway. Judging by the sound of a locker being punched, she had the feeling it might be Damien. _Ugh, not again._ She'd spent the last year trying to impress him and it was all going down the toilet if he saw her sniveling over her spaghetti covered sweater. She quickly hid in the stall and closed the door, inwardly cursing as she tried to will her tear ducts to dry up to no avail. 

Damien kicked in the bathroom door and walked in to see graffiti on the wall declaring Scott more swole than him. He felt his blood boil and flipped the wall the bird. “Fuck you, anonymous artist! I’ll be back, motherfucker,” he snarled and kicked it, leaving a boot print over his name. He went to the sink to wash his hands when he saw the blue sweater under the faucet. “What the…” He turned around and walked over to the stall, heard a very quiet sniffle, and slowly pushed the door open. Vicky sat on top of the toilet seat and looked up at him with those big blue doe eyes, her cheeks streaked with tears. She looked really small. “Why the hell do I keep running into you today? Come out of there. People shit in there,” he said. “And I’m pretty sure the Wolfpack just pissed all over the walls.” 

Vicky did as she was told, having been caught. There was no use hiding in there now. She considered belatedly standing up for herself and giving him a piece of her mind – but she didn’t really feel angry. She was just hurt. 

“You don’t have to worry about those ass weasels tripping you anymore,” Damien grinned and showed her his bloody knuckles, hoping it might cheer her up. “They ate their own teeth for lunch.” 

Vicky felt more tears well up in her eyes and wiped them away as she walked over to the sink. “Do you feel better?” she managed to ask. 

“Punching stuff usually helps,” he said, but he still felt like shit. Mostly because he could tell she felt like shit. And he knew it probably wasn’t Tony or Garret that made her feel that way. She was used to getting shit from them and even verbally laid waste to them in retaliation before. But him? Sure, he was known by some to be a bully – mostly to those shitty little goblins – but he’d never been cruel to _her_ before. Only a really fucked up person would pick on someone like her. “Why are you so concerned about me anyway? I’ve been a dick to you for some shit you didn’t even do to me.”

“Because you’re having a bad day. I just wanted to cheer you up.” 

He huffed. It almost sounded like a scoff. But it wasn't that he didn't believe her. He was just thinking about it. “I really fucking wanted that pudding too,” he admitted. He was just too proud to accept it. When Vicky turned and hugged him, Damien jumped, surprised and a little uncomfortable. He patted her on the back awkwardly and asked, “Does that make you feel better?” 

It would have felt better if he'd returned the gesture, but Vicky nodded and squeezed him a little tighter, hoping it might have the same effect on him. He smelled like a campfire. She really wanted to make s’mores with him, internally adding that to her bucket list. 

Damien heard footsteps approaching and turned his body so he could kick the door closed when it started to open. “Occupado, motherfucker!”

Vicky had to stop herself from audibly swooning when she felt his arm around her but quickly remembered she was all gross from ugly crying. She reluctantly let go of him, wondering how long he would have let her hug him for before putting his walls back up. “Why were you so angry?” she asked, hoping to squeeze in through the cracks before he mentally reinforced them. 

“It’s better if I just show you,” he said and lead her outside to the parking lot. He pointed at Nancy, his precious car, where the windshield had been smeared with honey and birdseed so the car was covered in bees, birds, and bird shit. “Look at this shit! As if this wasn’t bad enough, they spray painted COCKADAMUS on the side. What the FUCK is a Cockadamus!?” 

“Like you have a psychic dick, I guess? I’ll help you clean it.” Vicky saw the look on his face and quickly added, “Nancy, that is!” 

“I was about to say… cleaning my cock is a pretty big leap from giving me hugs to cheer me up.”

“I mean, whatever makes you happy,” she shrugged with a sheepish smile.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he smirked. “I’ll accept your help, but first we need to burn that bathroom down.”

“Sure," Vicky answered, just happy to be included. "I'll be the lookout since I know you already have the supply of gas and matches.”

“I want you to light it,” he said and tossed her a pack of matches.

“You... really?” She felt like something special was happening. Also, this was totally a test, right? Wait, what if he got aroused watching her do an arson? She answered quickly, “I’ll do it!” 

“Good,” he said, relieved she didn’t chicken out and a little entertained by her enthusiasm. He carried the gas can to the bathroom and splashed it against the wall. “Just painting over this shit won’t do.”

Once Damien emptied out the can, Vicky struck a match and felt her heart drop into the pit of her stomach when it didn’t light on the first try. “Don’t judge me!” she said defensively and struck it again so the end lit up.

“For what? Being a noob?” he teased. 

She tossed it into the puddle, trying her best to look confident and nonchalant, but she yelped as the flames ignited from floor to ceiling with a burst. Damien stomped out the fire on his shoes casually and grinned as he flipped the burning wall both of his middle fingers. “Burn, you piece of shit!” 

Vicky was happy to see him smiling, but she also saw Crazy Martin turn the corner at the end of the hall. “We better go,” she said and grabbed Damien’s arm to pull him out into the hallway. 

“Good job, Stitches.” 

Vicky beamed. “I’ll meet you at your car. I’m going to get some supplies!” She ran off to find the supply closet next to the art room and scavenged some red, yellow, black, and white paints, sponges, and brushes before going outside to hook up the garden hose. 

Damien stood by his car with his arms crossed, watching her with a cocked eyebrow as she ran around with her arms full. “Are you sure this will be enough to clean it?” he asked, eyeing the hose and the sponge in her hand. “Maybe I should see if I can ‘borrow’ some of Miranda’s serfs.”

“Why did you say borrow like that?” Vicky asked. 

“Because I meant kidnap. There’s no way she’d let me use them without wanting something in return. Like a fucking tithe,” he said and sprayed down Nancy with the hose. 

“Or you can just have faith in me,” Vicky said and started scrubbing. She took off her shoes to carefully climb up on the hood to reach the roof. 

“Don’t tell me to ‘have faith’ in anything ever again,” he said, turning the hose on her with his finger over the opening to fan the stream. “I wish I knew who did this. Then I could punch fuck their entire world into non-existence.”

Vicky giggled and blocked her face with her arm until he turned the hose back on his car. “You mentioned having a rival before. Could it be her?”

“I always thought Dahlia was more straight forward than this,” he said, considering that maybe Dahlia had outside influences suggesting psychological warfare. That would mean he had more than one person to fucking end. He looked over at Vicky and felt his cheeks heat up realizing her white shirt was soaked through, revealing a lace bra underneath. He wondered if she noticed or even cared. She seemed pretty intent on cleaning all the crap off his car. And she was surprisingly effective.

“Well, who else would actually try to mess with you? Most people you piss off would be too scared to do anything about it,” she said and climbed down from the car after she finished cleaning it off. 

“You’ve got the skills to appear in an 80’s rock video,” Damien grinned. 

Vicky smiled and tossed him the sponge. “If you get the other side, we'll finish twice as fast and I can get to painting.”

Damien wrinkled his nose at the dirty sponge and hosed it off before going around to clean off the back of his car as she knelt down on the driver’s side to start painting. “Pick a body part.”

“Tongue,” Vicky answered, thinking that could be sexy. “What for?”

“That’s what I’m ripping out of whoever I find out did this.”

Vicky frowned, finding that a lot less sexy than she was hoping for. “What if you don't find them?”

Damien answered sarcastically, “Then I’ll have to do something with your tongue instead.”

_Now we’re talkin’._

Vicky painted flames on the side of his car with a big red hand giving the finger. She considered herself a pretty decent artist and was satisfied with the finished product. While Damien shut off the water, she stood up and wiped her hand on her shirt without thinking, leaving what looked like a bloody handprint on her boob. She turned to face him with her hands on his hips, appreciative that he didn’t peek before the big reveal. “You can look now. If you hate it, I’ll cover it up.” 

Damien was a little apprehensive. He’d trusted her with giving his car a makeover. But he knew it couldn’t be any fucking worse than COCKADAMUS. When he saw the paint job though, he was blown away. “HOLY FUCKING SHIT. This is completely badass! You’re a badass!” he gawked. 

“What did you have in mind for my tongue?” Vicky asked with a playful grin. 

Damien grinned back, “You’ve got a bit of a naughty side to you.”

“You have no idea,” Vicky said, bluffing so hard but so confidently. 

“In that case, you should be more concerned with what I'll do with my tongue,” he said, pretty sure he could make her blush. He wasn’t wrong. 

“Do you want to go get some ice cream?” she asked, feeling bolder. 

He was quiet for a moment. “You asking me out on a date?”

“Yes,” Vicky answered, thinking of how she could spice it up. If it was a date with Damien, it had to involve more than ice cream. That was a date he’d take Scott out on. Except they weren’t dating. “Yes, I am.” 

Well, they’d already burned the bathroom down, so he wasn’t going to complain about the date being boring. He’d rather push some boundaries, but he did like ice cream, and he didn’t eat his pudding. And his hesitation was clearly scaring the shit out of her. He smirked, “Hop in the car. We’re skipping class.” 

Vicky breathed a sigh of relief and got in on the passenger side, noticing now that she was wet. But the heat from being in the confined space with Damien was going to dry her out before they got started with crimes. Oh, right! The crimes! 

“I know a place Scott goes nuts over,” Damien said and started driving toward the I-Scream Parlor. 

“I have an alternate place,” Vicky said. “I know where the Ice cream Wizard lives.” 

Damien grinned, “You fucking do not.” 

“I do,” she insisted. “And I know he’s not home right now because he goes to Horror High on Tuesdays, Creepy High on Wednesdays, and Monster High on Fridays.” 

“So we’re looking at a B&E and burglary?” Damien grinned devilishly. “It's a fucking date!”


End file.
